The Watchtower
by thereisalwaysyesterday
Summary: A string of murders terrify London. As Ministry Investigators, Rose & Scorpius must work together to help solve the crime. A strong friendship will blossom but will it stand the test of trust? R/S.
1. Cursed is the man who dies

**1.**

* * *

**Soho – 23:16**

* * *

He whimpered.

The taste of the potion remained fixed on his tongue as his resolution faded. Any piece of strength he had left diminished as he was suddenly gripped with an unbearable exhaustion. His eyelids drooped as saliva dripped absently from his lips—he could sense his breathing rate declining as a senseless throbbing claimed his head. "Please," he managed, the lights in the room beginning to fade, "Please, don't." Despite his best efforts, his head fell forwards. He lost balance—the only thing that fixed him to position was the metal chain that held his hands. Each muscle grew limp and numb and eventually he comprehended the inevitable.

He surrendered.

A pair of eyes watched his demise with excruciating attention.

"You have talked quite enough for this evening, sir." The voice skimmed over the nausea smoothly, "It is about time you rested."

The tired man agreed. A moment after—his eyes shut. Two minutes and the blood in his vessels congealed.

He left with barely a noise.

"*_Qu'il repose en paix_," the voice cooed. _(may he rest in peace)_

* * *

The emergency meeting was held at exactly 7:31 am. One minute late.

"This is madness—"

"Oh we must start the investigation immediately—"

"—how did the press get a hold of this story, huh? Jackson? Do you know—"

"—did someone get a hold of Magda? _Kershaw_, here. You—did you get a hold of—"

"Apparently, his _tongue _was cut out."

The last sentence forced Rose to turn instantly. Her gaze fell on the two newly graduates lingering at the back of the hall—positioned to assist their respective superiors. They glanced back at her, wide-eyed and concluded their conversation immediately. It only dawned on her then that she was glaring. "Oh," Her lips parted to apologize only for the shrill voice of the head of the Auror office to clear the clutter of voices.

"Everyone, please be seated."

Obediently, everyone sat. Rose remained in the back, eyes glazed as she listened to the discussion that followed. She picked up on the details vaguely. Soho—murdered—tip off—mess. This was the word that remained in her mind: mess. It had been a mess, apparently. Her fingers curled as her eyes focused on a spot on her lap. She could feel her stomach tightening as the meeting was adjourned and the noise level in the stuffy room heightened.

She was up instantly.

"Pardon me." Ambling towards the exit, the red head swept past the army of figures.

"Rose," a voice called out.

She kept walking.

"Rose—wait."

Hitting the door, she stumbled out.

"Rose," the call was fainter.

It was only after that she realized that she was on the floor. Her eyelids fluttered open and she was left, staring into the eyes of one Albus Potter. His lips motioned to her name one more time before the light collapsed and she quivered into stillness.

* * *

Rose awoke to anarchy. She groaned as she sat up. "Al," the name was gasped out as a memory fleeted into her head, "Al." Her gaze swept across the room which she swiftly recognized as a cubicle in the small clinical wing of the Ministry. She glanced down and after briefly assessing her physical condition—_eyesight, memory, balance, thumbs, toes_—progressed on to haul herself out of bed.

At this point, her plan of escape hit a bump. Or more specifically, an Albus.

"Rose! _Shit_—I mean, sorry. You—why did you get out of—go back, back. The Healer said so."

"No, Al." Rose shook her head, "I have work. I'm sure you heard."

A long silence fell then. The two exchanged an extended glance before Albus eventually broke the quiet: "I did," he paused, "I was there at the meeting—and I'm sorry, Rose. I know you were one of Frank's _good _friends."

The emphasis on good was not a slip of the tongue. Everyone knew that Frank Le Corbusier had many friends; but it was often intimated that not all were good. Rose had been a member of an exclusive minority.

She kept it together just long enough to persuade Al to let her leave the wing. However, much to her distaste, he insisted that he escorted her out of the Ministry anyhow. She even managed a tender smile and a wave as she watched him walk up to the building, leaving her alone. Rose had vowed she would get herself home just as he wished. However, she had not specified that that time be _now._

The temptation to cry struck her came hard and she barely had time to react before she was leaning on a tree sobbing into her hands. A mixture of weariness and anguish was the fuel. She had heard the news when they had found the body early this morning and had barely uttered a word since. The cries were muffled and they did not last long. It took longer to recover.

But eventually, she picked herself up and returned.

* * *

"Ah, Rose. Are you feeling better, already? I'd assumed you would have gone home."

"I'm fine, Mr Roy. Thank you."

The Head of the Department smiled delicately before following her into her small, cluttered office, "Good. I was hoping you would be here. There is a lot of work for us—now after what happened…" His words trailed as he noticed the distinct soreness in her eyes. Despite being notorious for his harsh management of his department, Davidson Roy had two daughters of his own. He could recognize a damsel in distress almost instantly. It was only now that he recollected something. As a result, he found himself pushing against the door behind him.

"I understand that you were—acquainted with Mr Le Corbusier." Knowing his employees inside out was one of the requirements of being head. How such a significant tidbit escaped him before was a mystery. Quite possibly because such menial details rarely did become significant.

She was looking up at him now, sadly. "I was, sir."

"Then, I must ask. Will you be _entirely _content to be a part of this investigation, Ms Weasley?" His brow arched, "I would understand if you were not."

A silence chased his words. Distractedly, Roy rearranged the disorderly room in his mind—parchment, quill, trash in the bin _etc_ – until she spoke again. The sadness in her eyes had faded and she was looking at him as if he had just screeched a string of profanity.

"I—of course, sir. I would not—no, no. I _want _to be in this job—this one too. It doesn't change things. I… I've just been promoted," A glimmer of a smile straightened on her lips, "No. I—please, just give me those."

She gestured towards the papers he carried. Roy smiled again.

"Here," he paused, "I am holding a briefing at midday—multi-departmental," he expressed a light gagging noise which only made the woman's smile widen, "There are plenty of details there. And I want two of you to go and visit the place of death… you… and," A finger on his lip, Roy leaned back and grinned as a figure flashed by the transparent surface of Rose's office door.

He went to open it immediately: "—Ah, Malfoy- do you have a moment?"

His tone of voice suggested intensively that whether he possessed said moment—or not, the man had to respond. The tall trainee did. He turned and attended to his boss' request dutifully.

"More than a moment," he replied, reaching him, coffee in hand, "What is it, sir?"

"I need someone to accompany Ms Weasley to Soho, this afternoon. To attend to the place of death," Summarily, Roy thrust a wad of paper into the man's free hand, "—ensure that you brief yourselves well on the case details," _for no employee of mine will look like an idiot_, "—and get, get, get the pathology report _first_—also, Mr Malfoy please may you make fifty five copies of these for the meeting this afternoon. If you leave now, you should make it on time. Keep that in mind, folks yes?"

A busy smile sliding across his face, Roy tossed Rose a determined nod of the head before leaving her office. He scuttled along the corridor, waving heatedly at his secretary –Mona- for his morning cuppa. Considering the manner of the morning, he expected he would need more than two cups of tea to survive the next few hours.

At the same time, Rose was reading over the first page of the case file. She glanced up to reach for a quill and only then spotted the figure leaning on her door frame. His attention remained centred on Roy who had just disappeared through a corner. She watched him in return. It took a second before his eyes finally revolved to meet hers.

Politely, he smiled.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"I'll just have copies of these… and we can leave—should I just meet you outside?"

"Yeah," Gingerly, she squeezed all the papers together, "sure, sure."

"Good."

* * *

The history (or lack thereof) between Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy made a very dull train of thought. They had attended Hogwarts at the same time—she was sorted into Gryffindor (predictably) and he was a Ravenclaw (perhaps, not so predictably). Looking back from this moment, Rose was certain that they had only ever had one proper conversation during their time at school. She had been paired up with him one afternoon at Potions. Equipped with the bubbly nature of her childhood temperament, she had tried her best to engage him in conversation. Scorpius had been notorious for his unsociable conduct at the time—a popular observation when contrasted with that of his of his twin sister. Expectantly, he had declined her offer on the first foot by answering her in the most subdued way. The efforts fell through and they concluded their partnership with Scorpius' conscientiously written report handed over later that week. After, she had never tried again. He was delightedly titled by Albus as the most arrogant _douche bag _in their year; however, Rose had always had a feeling that his behaviour did not stem from arrogance at all. But since that afternoon together, she had barely passed the boy a thought. Man, even. She was never the type to dwell on people she did not particularly like.

And now he was here.

They apparated to the place in silence. Parting from the small conversation and a wayward comment about the December weather, the pair had kept the menial exchange to a minimum.

"We're Investigators—sent by Mr Roy," Holding up her badge, Rose introduced herself to the figure in front of the pub they'd apparated to, "I'm Investigator Weasley—this is my colleague— "

"Malfoy," Scorpius interposed, flicking his badge for view.

The man nodded, lightly gesturing for them to take the stairs to the basement. The pub was dark. Rose glanced around, half imagining the figures that must have been prancing senselessly here last night—whilst an innocent man languished to his death downstairs. The thought was enough to force her throat to dry and she followed her colleague down.

"His body's been taken to the morgue," Scorpius told her flatly, as if comprehending the hesitance in her eyes.

"Oh, well get the pathologist. I'll try and talk to the others and see what I get."

"Okay."

"Okay."

For a moment, she sensed that he wanted to say something but was too tentative to press the words. Rose saved him the trouble.

"I'm fine," she paused, "really."

He nodded.

"I'm aware," his tone was strict, "I'll meet you here in twenty."

* * *

Twenty minutes later and Rose had spoken to approximately the auror in charge, a fellow Investigator, two MLEs and the owner of the pub.

"I run a respectable business, here Missus—I don't know what you're thinking—"

"No accusation was offered, Mr. Patmore. I just need a statement—"

The plump man shook his head, waving off her words with a hand."I've been talking to all of you since two in the morning—I can barely see straight considering how tired I am."

"A man was murdered in your establishment sir," Rose explained wearily, feeling both annoyance and sympathy for the man, "An important man," A _friend_, her mind winced, "I'm sure you understand that this is all out of necessity."

Her words clearly struck a chord. He wiped his face with a sleeve and then nodded, "Fine," Taking a breath, he began.

"There was a party here, last night. Expectantly. It's December. Every day is celebrated," Exhaustedly, he smiled before progressing, "It stopped—about one-ish, possibly. I wasn't here. One of my employees was in charge. I was on my way—packing. And then, I got an owl from yous and went straight back."

Patiently, Rose nodded, glancing down at her book which had the statement already written. She had inquired for she wanted to know herself. It was a talent she had cultivated over time—how to tell when someone was a liar. Mr Patmore was certainly as innocent as he proclaimed. "Thank you, sir." Glancing up at the stairs, she then said, "Please, go get some sleep. I think we're done. If there's anything else, we will get in touch."

At that point, Rose sensed a presence behind her. She turned, almost colliding into her partner in the process. "Done?" she inquired, gesturing towards the file he held, "double checked?"

"Triple," Scorpius responded.

"Which pathologist was it?" the red headed woman turned her eyes picking out the figure in the coat.

Sylvia White. The woman straight out of romantic fiction. Popular amongst her colleagues—particularly of the male orientation—Ms White was undeniably pretty. Long dark hair, tall slim frame and a smile which never ceased despite the grotesque nature of her job—she was the perfect recipe of female beauty crossed with the burning allure that came with career women.

It was a shame, Rose supposed, that she was a _bitch._

A bemused smile on her face, Rose returned her gaze to the blonde man.

He was blushing.

Not wishing to embarrass him, she said nothing. "We have time," forty minutes until the meeting, in fact, "want to get some coffee? We can talk all this…" She gestured towards her cargo of papers, "along."

"Sure," he stated, discomfort fading.

"Lovely," She tossed the Auror in charge a wave, "I'll just excuse us."

Taking a step forwards, Rose found her eyes centring on the chair in the middle of the room. A chain lay beneath it- no doubt smothered in Frank's blood. Briefly, she felt herself whimper as images of _what _the man could have endured in his final moments entered her mind. The pain - the inevitable surrender to death. Plus, the extraction of the tongue. It was all so horrible.

_'Yet you've seen worse.'_

Closing her eyes briefly, she reprimanded herself before continuing.

* * *

"So," Stirring the milk into her coffee, Rose glanced up into the eyes of the man sat across her.

He had been watching his cup for a few seconds now. She supposed that he must be evading conversation. Clearly, nothing much had changed since their graduation a few years ago. They were twenty five—and still, he refused to talk.

"Do you wish to discuss these matters here?"

His tone caught her by surprise. It verged on angry—but Rose surmised that it was discomfort above all. "No," she responded honestly, "I just wanted to get something to drink… I don't think we'd get much breaks after this afternoon's meeting." Warily, she watched him. His eyes were fixated on the window by their table.

A silence followed.

She hated silence. "I'm sorry," Pausing, she waited until he turned back to her before clarifying, "I'm sorry I missed your trainee-welcome party last Friday. I was helping my brother pack for Egypt."

Scorpius smiled; the sentiment gentle. "It's fine. I didn't stay long. Plus, it wasn't just for me."

"I have to say," she said then, feeling like the ease had returned in his manner, "I didn't take you for an Investigator. More… well, I don't know."

Rose had said it in a tone which (she hoped) waived all offence possible. It worked because his smile did not fade. If anything, he laughed.

"That's why I applied late," he answered, finally taking the first sip of his cappuccino, "I understand. I worked for Mungo's actually."

"Let me guess," The redhead grinned, "Medical researcher."

"Ah," Pleasantly surprised, Scorpius chuckled, "Yes."

"So, why did you leave?"

"Because I applied here."

There was nothing defensive about his answer however Rose sensed that his honesty had slipped then. But she respected people's privacies; at least she had learnt to ever since starting her job and realizing that everyone was as secretive as hell. He was private. There was something about his cool expression that suggested someone who had things to hide.

But everyone had secrets. He was nothing special.

Eyeing the Malfoy, she found a smile cross her face again.

He was very much the same Malfoy she remembered; quiet, solitary and very dismissive of company. However, there was a maturity in the depth of his eyes which made her hopeful that he would not be the identical arse she recalled from school. Physically, he was taller—his hair was much darker—and he was cleanly shaven. They were details that were lost on people but Rose liked to explore people's physical profiles. There were often momentous details on the surface of people which revealed much about their character.

It would be said that her companion gave very little away. Scorpius dressed plain—he acted plain—and thus, he appeared plain.

"Have I got something on my face?"

Almost desperately, Scorpius reached for a tissue.

Rose blushed heavily, "No," she shook her head.

"Oh," His expression dropped—so did the newly acquired tissue, "Then." Insecurely, Scorpius brushed a finger against the bottom of his lip, "you were—staring at me."

"I like to stare at people."

Lightly, her eyes closed as she cursed herself, "I meant," she paused gingerly, "I'm used to staring at people. It's in the job description isn't it. To look at people and figure out what they're like. I mean it's not the only variable, but you have to consider it."

Aware that she was getting redder by the second, Rose took a sip of her drink and looked up to spot him staring back.

"So," Pausing, Scorpius asked, "what did you find out?"

"Not much," she revealed almost miserably, "only that you're very tidy."

"And you're not."

He paused.

"I saw your office this morning—remember?"

"Oh," Rose smiled, "yes, you did. I—yes, I've been willing to get all that sorted."

She had for about two years now. The fact was that she spent so much time _in _the office that by the end of the day—all she wanted to do was go. She couldn't bear the extra time required to stay in that cupboard a moment longer than necessary.

"It's alright though," she mumbled, sipping again, "I mean, I know where everything is… so the messiness is no problem."

He laughed a little but said nothing. Rose wanted to sustain the conversation but came up with no subject matter to pursue. Fearing that she would irritate him, she simply kept to herself-fiddling with the top of her case file. Eventually though, she was salvaged from the silence. She did not notice him shuffle forwards a little as he asked,

"You knew the victim, didn't you."

Rose blinked numbly for a moment.

"Yes," she paused, "—but who didn't. It was Frank. He was assistant to the Minister. He was basically a political celebrity."

"Personally, I meant."

"Yes," It was her turn to dodge his glances as she watched the muggles amble happily past the window, "I did."

"As friends."

She cottoned onto his tone instantly.

"Of _course_, as friends," Her eyes widened, "If you're suggesting—"

"No accusation was offered," Scorpius interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand and shaking his head, "I was simply asking."

By then of course, he had pressed the matter too much. Pale tears had returned to her eyes and the taste of the coffee was growing bitter on her tongue.

"We can go." He suggested, meeting her eyes as she nodded wordlessly.

It was then that she noticed that he'd barely touched his drink. "Oh, no." She gestured towards it, "Finish your drink."

"It's fine," Scorpius answered, coat around him already, "I'll only upset you further if we stay."

The casual way he'd stated it almost made Rose bypass the comment completely. It took her a moment to absorb the words before she was up on her feet:

"No," she argued, managing a smile, "you haven't upset me."

He passed her a smile in return—(perhaps even more unconvincing than hers) before passing her the papers she'd abandoned on the table.

"Let's go, Ms Weasley," he responded, glancing at a spot over her shoulder.

Rose realized then that the situation may have been misconstrued in Scorpius' head. After all, now that she peered further - she realized that he was more upset than she was. And she had barely said anything.

The easiness in his eyes had faded.

She clutched the file closer to her chest. There was work that required doing; _this was nothing._

* * *

"—Justice for our fallen colleague is paramount and all departments must work together to bring those responsible to account. I will be present at this afternoon's press conference which will be held downstairs. The Minister will be making a short speech as well. For now, we must review the plans we have brought in to protect London. This is the fourth death of its kind. This is unacceptable and must not be allowed to happen again. There is something happening in the streets. Something stirring that we are missing. And we must find out what it is and stop it—there will be a ceremony for Frank tomorrow. For now, I call all departmental heads to stay behind for another briefing. That is all. If you have questions, stay behind."

* * *

Rose walked down from the meeting alone. Her hands were shaking. Turning a corner, she turned to the side and realized that Scorpius had been walking with her.

"Oh," She smiled, "I didn't see you there."

"Mr Roy is pulling the department together in about twenty minutes," he paused, "we are widening the span of the investigation on the previous three murders."

He paused again.

"We're doing the _Collins _case."

"Collins," Rose ran through the details in her mind—_three months ago, Caucasian female, Thames, poisoned. _It took a second. "Wait, we."

Scorpius nodded.

"We."

She wasn't sure how to respond. Enthusiasm and disappointment were both too ugly of an expression to really define how she felt. Instead, she just nodded.

"Well, best get to work then."

Rose looked up at him and found herself a little at a loss. Because for a moment—she swore she had seen a gleam of sympathy in his eyes. Genuine sympathy. However this sensation wore off and she figured that she must have imagined it.

"Your office or mine?"

She figured that was a joke. "Trainees don't have offices."

"I have a desk," The blond admitted, "It's tidy."

Now it dawned on her that he was (possibly) attempting to enlighten her after what had transpired earlier in the morning. Perhaps that was why he was behaving so oddly.

"Your desk then."

He smiled.

She smiled back.

The moment was extinguished by a lean figure brushing through them.

"Oh, fuck's sake you two. Walk faster, fucking buggers."

Separated by a rather flushed looking Investigator Dawson, Rose retained her smile before realizing that Scorpius had disappeared. He had walked the other direction—towards his desk, without even a prompt of a goodbye.

The redhead could only shrug, almost entirely accustomed to the man's conduct despite only reacquainting with him a few hours ago. He was an odd one. A much kinder description than the one attributed consistently by her father.

Ah, her father. He would be fascinated to hear about this.

_About Frank too_, she reminded herself as all previous cheeriness left her face and she walked steadily back to her office.

* * *

**Disclaimers: I own nothing. Watchtower - Devlin ft. Ed Sheeran**

* * *

A/N: _So hello, much thanks for reading. This is the first chapter of my first fic of my first delve into next!gen with Scorpius/Rose. I am very excited and I hope you like it so far. I wanted to divert away from the Scorpius/Rose manwhore!Hogwarts stories so I decided to create one where they did not have that pleasure of forming a relationship at school. It is a romance at heart. Scorpius' point of view in the next installment._

_Thank you; I hope you are all having a lovely holiday. _


	2. Give thy thoughts no tongue

**2.**

* * *

_'Have to work late at the morgue, love._

_Eat something when you get home. Don't make me wake you up._

_S. x_'

* * *

"Good news?"

He glanced up from the note and passed the red haired woman a nod, "Just a note," he dismissed, scribbling a swift, _'That's fine. I'll see you then,' _on the back and sending it off with the owl again. He watched the creature fly off into the distance before returning his attention to the wad of paperwork that Rose had just graced his desk with.

"She was the first," she stated, "Evelyn Clare. Only nineteen—I spoke to her mother."

The memory was clearly vivid in the woman's mind as Scorpius watched her eyes glaze over once more. Hers did so, often. "Anything specific in the scene—?" he paused, "What do we have to go by?"

"It was clean," Scratching her nose, she took the seat across him and reached for the red file situated on the top, "Almost—anyway, but we clearly missed something."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because a murder followed—and another—and another," Her tone was light yet he detected a light exasperation. He remained quiet as she added, "Apparently—a note was left… with Frank—Mr Le Corbusier… there was a note and it implicates his murder with the rest. It's being scanned now but hopefully we'd get to see it soon. For now, we just have to skim through these until we find something. Hopefully we will. Because this is where it all started. If we don't find anything," She gestured towards those who bustled around them, clamped in the same workload, "—I sincerely doubt they would."

Licking his lips thoughtfully, Scorpius leaned forwards and retrieved a book.

"We'll find something," he said, "Even if you find nothing—it's still theoretically something."

He wasn't sure if he had stated it as a jest or not but she smiled in response anyhow. It was the smile of someone who was quite accustomed to peeling the veil of misery back to expose even the most meagre of light. He would have never expected (the) Rose Weasley to be this way if he had been asked at graduation. She had been quite different then.

As with everyone.

"If you have any questions, just say." She was asserting her superiority; Scorpius had expected this to come sooner, "we might be here, late. Is that okay with you?"

His thoughts picked up on the note he'd been sent.

"Fine," he nodded, "I have nothing else."

"Good," she replied; the smile was back. This time however—the despondency was more obvious—"I really didn't want to be alone today."

It occurred to him then that she may have not wanted to voice that out loud. However, she never corrected herself and so he did not bother either.

* * *

It was eleven o clock. As much as Scorpius wanted to stay, he was aware that there was only so much one could accomplish in one day. Quietly, he waited at the door for Rose. After a few clicks of her heels, she appeared, still buttoning up her coat.

"Cheers," she grinned, brushing past him through the door, "This work sometimes. Honestly," She chuckled as if finishing with some private joke as she glanced back, "I'll… see you tomorrow then, Scorpius."

The use of his name continued to feel unfamiliar. She clearly thought the same as her enthusiastic stance fell and she blushed. He watched her, unable to bear the smile which then crossed his face. It was peculiar for the redder she became—the more disparate the shade was from her hair.

"Have a nice evening-and get some sleep," He told her, tone polite as they walked out of the building side-by-side.

"You too."

"I'll see you tomorrow—Rose."

He felt much better saying her name now that they were officially off duty. The redhead passed him a gentle wave as he headed the opposite direction. Trudging through the empty courtyard, he glanced back—watching her as she faded into the shadows.

Perhaps, he thought. He should take the bus home this evening.

He rather liked the night buses.

* * *

'_Oh, but baby its cold. Baby it's cold outside_,' He mimed, stirring the pasta sauce silently as the clock struck midnight. Tossing a few sprinkles of salt into the saucepan, Scorpius glanced at the time and then listened out for the door.

Nothing.

The music soon overcame his momentary worries and he finished and ate the meal alone. Rubbing dark eyes, Scorpius expressed a long yawn. He left a note—_warm up_—on the kitchen table and then stumbled into bed. On his stomach, he pressed his face into the pillow. It smelled like her perfume—mixed with the cat hair.

Attractive.

Yawning, he rolled onto his back and stretched across the double bed - conveying another sigh. One eye on the time, he found himself in a dilemma.

_To sleep—_

He lifted himself up eventually—read _The Prophet_ – filled out his schedule for tomorrow—smoked two cigarettes—and then returned to bed.

Just another work night.

* * *

"I am late… _laaaaate_."

She entered the kitchen, a hand still holding onto a shoe which slid out of her grasp the moment she clambered for her hand bag, "Staff meeting at half past—oh for… goodness sake."

Scorpius watched her, eyes still drooping. "Morning to you too," Lightly, he gestured towards his plate, "Toast?"

"No time," The dark haired woman repeated, grinning before hooking into both shoes and approaching him.

He had been in the middle of inspecting the mail when she came in. Three bills—a magazine subscription—and a letter from his sister. Swallowing down his second mouthful of toast, the blond glanced to the side as she wrapped long arms around him. He leaned back—tossing her a warm smile as she kissed him lightly on the mouth.

"Your hair needs a wash," she mumbled, hesitantly untangling herself from him as she exited the room.

"You didn't eat my pasta," He then hollered in return.

"Aw, love. I was so tired—sorry," The sound of the front door opening followed—"I'll see you later—try and get home early, okay?"

Scorpius expressed an absent nod, taking another bite of toast as he finished surveying the letters. His sister wanted to meet him: _Interesting._ She had been so keen to leave England last year that he had presumed she would not return for a while yet. Finishing breakfast, he tidied everything (including shoving last night's late dinner into the bin) before preparing for work.

His shift started at nine. It was seven fifteen.

Stood at the doorway, the man turned towards the letter which remained on the table.

_To answer or not to—_

He had time.

* * *

Approaching his desk, Scorpius was surprised to see Rose Weasley already there. Engrossed in her work, it took a moment for his presence to be registered.

"Hey," He greeted.

"Oh, morning." She smiled at him.

"Sorry... I'm late."

"Not at all," Adjusting in her seat, she gestured towards the pile of papers which appeared to have exceeded in size since yesterday evening, "I'm just… well I'm always early." Quietly, he observed as she blushed—a common habit of the red head's it would seem. He couldn't exactly ascertain what she could possibly be embarrassed about. After all in Scorpius' view, there was nothing wrong about being wedded to one's work. It was something he had predicted from her. From what he recollected from school, Rose had been a hard-worker.

Much like himself. "—I had to come in early anyway," she continued, "So I can get all the work done—Frank's ceremony is today."

_Of course_. Nodding understandingly, Scorpius removed his coat and passed her a nod, "I understand… we'll get it done."

There was a light emphasis on _we_; this provoked a gentle smile.

It faded though as she quickly pulled the discussion back to work. "Right," she paused, "so the pathology reports are here—I'll continue reading through the witness statement—could you take care of those on that pile? I might try and catch a word with Jamie as well. He was the Investigator in Charge of this one," Her gaze raised skyward as she attempted to remember something. Scorpius watched as she delicately tapped her fingers on the desk to a nameless tune—, "I think that's it for now." Her eyes returned to him and she smiled stiffly.

As if assessing whether he'd collected all of that (which he had), her gaze remained. Another habit of hers. "Okay," he said, finally, watching the relief flood her eyes, "That sounds alright."

"Great—thanks—really."

He could tell that she hadn't had the sleep he'd suggested for her. Understandable considering the distressing circumstance. However, he presumed that it was a workaholic's curse: _insomnia. _Urging himself closer to the desk as he clarified his head to the level required for _work_, Scorpius began to read.

* * *

Time passed and he noticed the woman's eyelids sinking.

"Rose," he told her gently, "Rose."

"Oh," She was up. Shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, she glanced back at him—horrified, "Oh, no. I'm sorry. I was just—oh…" Mouthing a few cusses, she retrieved her file which had slipped to her lap, "where was I?"

"It's lunchtime," Scorpius informed her.

She considered it. "I think I'll stay in—you go and take the hour."

"No." His eyebrow arched, "I'm sorry. But I _insist _you take your lunchtime."

The redhead laughed. He managed a pale smile. "Please." He added before gesturing towards her bag, "my treat."

A pause followed then as she laughed once more. Scorpius seriously contemplated the probability of the uneasy laughter declining into sobs before she reached for her hand bag and nodded. "Yeah," the sad quirk in her lips returned, "okay."

"You need a break, Ms Weasley."

Enormous blue eyes cornered him quickly: "Do I have to be _permanently_ half-awake before you _permanently_ call me Rose?" Zipping up her coat, she shook her head at him, "Honestly, we're the _same _age."

It was his turn to grin sheepishly.

* * *

"Been some time since you were bought lunch?"

They were by Tower Bridge. Rose was leaning over the rails—gazing over the river. She had insisted they came here. It was where Evelyn had been found. Biting into his deli, Scorpius joined her—eyes instantly drawn to the distantly moving figures across the bay.

"A _life_time," she answered him; "our department's not exactly renowned for its charitable employees."

She shivered.

December chills. Scorpius regretted spending the hour outdoors. However he had allowed her to pick. It would have been rude to refuse her choice. "You shouldn't," he paused, "I get the impression that you—are allowing this whole thing to _get _to you."

"What?" Her tone felt forced. Scorpius instantly regretted commenting. It was a strict reflection of yesterday's break; he had pressed and she had retaliated. However, there was none of that today. She simply took his words and answered with silence.

Inwardly, he had assumed that work-stuff was the safest ground of conversation. He expressed a breath. "One of the reports—it said that her body had been situated strategically—it was found where a large populace of people would've seen it and raised the alarm."

"So," she paused thoughtfully, "The body was _meant _to be found."

"Mm."

It put her ill at ease. The blond then wondered what topic he would have to raise so she would neither be discomfited or grieved.

He smiled as he recalled something.

"I wanted to help people."

"_Hm_?"

"You asked me yesterday. Why the transition," Scorpius' eyes returned to the waters, "I didn't feel like I was accomplishing much as a researcher. You hypothesise. You plan. You exercise your intellectual muscles until you're in tatters—but you'd never see the change you make. Not like in something like this." Taking another bite of his sandwich, he registered her lengthy stare before continuing, "Back at school, people would never label me as _helpful _I'm sure. But it was difficult. It's difficult when you're young—to distinguish between those who… need help and those who are beyond it."

She expressed a dry-snort—and then reddened. Scorpius chuckled.

"That's _true_. Completely true," The crimson in her face slowly faded, "For the record—I'm pleased that you did. I think you suit this work. How are you finding it anyway?"

His eyes followed her hands as she took the first bite of her sandwich.

"I like it very much."

"Good," Brushing crumbs off her scarf, she grinned, "I'm a complete workaholic… so I'm biased. But I'm pleased working with me isn't putting you off."

"Not possible."

"Oh, _very _possible—do you not remember? We've worked together before?" Allowing her hands to fall to her sides, Scorpius blinked as she leaned forwards, "Potions, second year. _Ring any bells_?"

And there, Scorpius was treated to a very detailed account of his and Rose's first work interaction of sorts. She was very swift—but clear. It was clear enough that he was able to recall a few tidbits from it but it had been so long ago… "How do you remember that?" He asked, utterly fascinated, "It was… a _lifetime _ago."

"I have a good memory," she revealed, "v_ery _good memory." Her eyes evaded his. She suddenly retained the look of someone who was guilty of something morbid. He could only laugh, remembering briefly being annoyed by the short _ginger _that had been tattling instead of working.

"I convinced myself that you hated me," Rose continued as she drummed slender fingers over the rail, "so I never spoke to you again."

He paused.

"I," He inhaled, "I convinced myself that I _hated_ everyone."

She blinked, bemused expression faltering.

"Why?"

"Because I could." Scorpius answered in the same hasty manner she had adopted during his questioning.

Similarly, she avoided pursuing the matter and responded with: "Well that must have made school life impossible."

"Hellish." He agreed, finishing lunch and thus the conversation.

* * *

Rose was to attend the ceremony. He had promised to complete the paperwork required. Looking about, he realized that he was the only one to stay behind. _Frank Le Corbusier. _French. Scorpius snatched one of the flesh-coloured files by his ink pot and read over the summary on the first page:

_'time of death, estimated at 23:30 evening. Tongue was extracted after death. Defence wounds around hands. Trauma to the abdomen. Estimated cause of death: Heart failure.'_

Heart failure. And yet. A few pages later: _Alchemy._

Poison. _Evelyn -poison. _

The same poison? Flicking through, the substance was lost. There was plenty about the case that remained unrevealed however he concluded that they must be exploring it in excruciating detail. They _should _be. There was a sense of irrefutable fear in the air—an anxiety that came with the murder of someone so close to the Minister. It was a capital infringement. One that appeared to have finally sparked attention. All the front pages covered this story. Frank Le Corbusier's face was splashed beneath every headline. The charismatic, hardworking working class hero that fell.

_Tongue_. "Give thy thoughts no tongue," he recited to himself, returning the file and progressing on to stamp the plethora of papers Rose had instructed him with.

* * *

"—cold, _outsiiiiiide_."

Poached chicken. Scorpius wasn't sure he had tried that before. Flicking his wand over it and charming the meal to cool, he sat down and ate. A ripple of silence ran through the flat as he chewed. Looking up, his eyes swept over the dusty corners of the tiny kitchen - then towards the door where the arch faded into black. Lonely, his sister had commented once. _You're a fucking loner, sometimes. _He was; _most times. _However, if this house was to be a parallel of his character then so be it for despite its solitary rooms and oddly-angled ceilings, it was an absolute treasure.

He could live with that.

'_Meow._'

"Evening Mogs." Grinning at his cat—or rather his cohabitant—he watched as the creature elegantly paced the floor in search of her dinner.

The cat had not been particularly fond of _her. _Some battle of attention had occurred between them. He was quite certain that the disdain was mutual. In a way, it was difficult to explore the contention from his standpoint as he adored them both.

About to consume a mouthful, the blond blinked as he spotted a solid body flutter past his window. He reached to retrieve the owl immediately. Expecting the familiar blur of his sister's handwriting, Scorpius was pleasantly surprised to find that the note originated from his colleague instead.

* * *

_Dear Scorpius,_

_I understand it's late. But I just thought you'd want to know that someone was arrested this evening. For Frank's murder. I just thought you should be informed (if you aren't already then ignore me) _–(this part was badly crossed out however Scorpius did not struggle to read it)—_I'm sorry I didn't get to see you after the ceremony. Roy hauled me out afterwards. Thank you for finishing all the papers though. I really appreciate it your help._

_Sorry for the disturbance; have a good night_

_Rose :)_

* * *

It became impossible not to reply instantly.

* * *

_Rose_,

_Thank you for informing me; I would press you for more details but I realize it can wait until the morning. You are welcome. I'm glad I could help. I would have stayed and waited for you but I had plans this evening—which did not materialize. Anyway, I hope the ceremony was alright. I will see you tomorrow._

_Sleep well._

_SM._

* * *

The next morning Scorpius walked into the kitchen and spotted a parchment on top of the persistently dull dispatch of mail. He took it, skim-read the first sentence and realized that Rose had responded to his letter yesterday evening. It had bypassed his notice because it had not been as swift as his own response and naturally, he had assumed that the correspondence had concluded.

He read further.

* * *

_Dear Scorpius,_

_The ceremony was fine. Everyone was there. It's impossible to deny that I found it horrible. You were right about what you said. I am letting this get to me. But it's fine because tomorrow's another day right?. Maybe even one with some justice if we're lucky. Anyway. I'm disturbing you again. I'm sorry about your plans. But I'm just here with my cat so what do I know, eh? _

_See you tomorrow; and sleep well too. _

_Rose._

* * *

A gentle smile crossed tired lips.

"Is that from Carrie?" She entered from behind him, hair still wet from the shower, "Did you say she was coming back to London?"

His grasp on the parchment tightened instantly. "No, just work stuff." He dismissed, pocketing the letter, "she hasn't written back yet."

"Oh," Slowly, she approached, "Hopefully my flat would be all patched up then. She'd stay here right?"

He didn't answer. His eyes busied themselves on tracing her profile. She had looked tired this morning - but still, he admired. It was difficult to feel weary against the face of someone who simply represented _vivacity_. On a seperate thought, he urged himself to bring up the topic of last night's dinner plans but chose instead to discard it. There were far more urgent matters, he decided. "I'd suppose so," Scratching the top of his head, he ambled towards the bread bin.

"Toast?" He offered.

"Yes please."

She lingered after him, toes curling at the cold floor before enveloping long arms around his waist. "Come back to Mungo's," she whispered, tiptoeing as to catch and nip his ear, "I would see you there- I _miss _seeing you there."

"You'll only distract me."

"What?"

"It's true."

"_Crude_."

She gave him a light thump with her knuckle.

"No wonder why the male-dominated pathology department keeps you so long."

"Screw you, Scorpius."

"You should."

Just another morning-before-work day.

* * *

*** Give thy thought no tongue- shakespeare.**

* * *

A/N: _Much love for reading. x _


End file.
